They all fell silent.
“Then how long can we live down here?” Merek asked.
Silis shook her head as she glanced at their provisions.
“A week, perhaps,” she replied.
There suddenly came a tremendous rumble up above, and Godfrey flinched as he felt the ground shaking beneath him.
Silis jumped to her feet, agitated, pacing, studying the ceiling as dust began to filter down, showering over all of them. It sounded like an avalanche of stone above them, and she examined it as a concerned homeowner.
“They have breached my castle,” she said, more to herself than to them.
Godfrey saw a pained look in her face, and he recognized it as the look of someone losing everything she had.
She turned and looked at Godfrey gratefully.
“I would be up there now if it weren’t for you. You saved our lives.”
Godfrey sighed.
“And for what?” he asked, upset. “What good did it do? So that we can all die down here?”
Silis looked glum.
“If we remain here,” Merek asked, “will we all die?”
Silis turned to him and nodded sadly.
“Yes,” she answered flatly. “Not today or tomorrow, but within a few days, yes. They cannot get down here – but we cannot go up there. Soon enough our provisions will run out.”
“So what then?” Ario asked, facing her. “Do you plan to die down here? Because I, for one, do not.”
Silis paced, her brow furrowed, and Godfrey could see her thinking long and hard.
Then, finally, she stopped.
“There is a chance,” she said. “It is risky. But it just might work.”
She turned and faced them, and Godfrey held his breath in hope and anticipation.
“In my father’s time, there was an underground passage beneath the castle,” she said. “It leads through the castle walls. We could find it, if it still exists, and leave at night, under the cover of darkness. We can try to make our way through the city, to the harbor. We can take one of my ships, if there are any left, and sail from this place.”
A long, uncertain silence fell over the room.
“Risky,” Merek finally said, his voice grave. “The city will be teeming with Empire. How are we to cross it without getting killed?”
Silis shrugged.
“True,” she replied. “If they catch us, we will be killed. But if we emerge when it is dark enough, and we kill anyone who stands in our way, perhaps we will reach the harbor.”
“And what if we find this passageway and reach the harbor, and your ships aren’t there?” Ario asked.
She faced him.
“No plan is certain,” she said. “We may very well die out there – and we may very well die down here.”
“Death comes for us all,” Godfrey chimed in, feeling a new sense of purpose as he stood and faced the others, feeling a sense of resolve as he overcame his fears. “It is a question of how we wish to die: down here, cowering as rats? Or up there, aiming for our freedom?”
Slowly, one at a time, the others all stood. They faced him and all nodded solemnly back.
He knew, at that moment, a plan had been formed. Tonight, they would escape.
Chapter Eight
Loti and Loc walked side by side beneath the burning desert sun, the two of them shackled to each other, as they were whipped by the Empire taskmasters behind them. They trekked through the wasteland and as they did, Loti wondered once again why her brother had volunteered them for this dangerous, backbreaking job. Had he gone mad?
“What were you thinking?” she whispered to him. They were prodded from behind and as Loc lost his balance and stumbled forward, Loti caught him by his good arm before he fell.
“Why would you volunteer us?” she added.
“Look ahead,” he said, regaining his balance. “What do you see?”
Loti looked ahead and saw nothing but the monotonous desert stretched out before them, filled with slaves, the ground hard with rocks; beyond that, she saw a slope to a ridge, atop which labored a dozen more slaves. Everywhere were taskmasters, the sound of whips heavy in the air.
“I see nothing,” she replied, impatient, “but more of the same: slaves being worked to their deaths by taskmasters.”
Loti suddenly felt a searing pain across her back, as if her skin were being torn off, and she cried out as she was lashed across her back, the whip slicing her skin.
She turned to see the scowling face of a taskmaster behind her.
“Keep silent!” he commanded.
Loti felt like crying from the intense pain, but she held her tongue and continued to walk beside Loc, her shackles rattling under the sun. She vowed to kill all of these Empire as soon as she could.
They continued marching in silence, the only sound that of their boots crunching beneath the rock. Finally, Loc inched closer beside her.
“It’s not what you see,” he whispered, “but what you don’t see. Look closely. Up there, on the ridge.”
She studied the landscape, but saw nothing.
“There is but one taskmaster up there. One. For two dozen slaves. Look back, over the valley, and see how many there are.”
Loti glanced furtively back over her shoulder, and in the valley spread out below, she saw dozens of taskmasters overseeing slaves, who broke rock and tilled the land. She turned and looked back up at the ridge, and she understood for the first time what her brother had in mind. Not only was there only one taskmaster, but even better, there was a zerta beside him. A means of escape.
She was impressed.
He nodded in understanding.
“The ridgetop is the most dangerous job post,” he whispered. “The hottest, the least desired, by slave and taskmaster alike. But that, my sister, is an opportunity.”
Loti was suddenly kicked in the back, and she stumbled forward along with Loc. The two of them righted themselves and continued up the ridge, Loti gasping for air, trying to catch her breath beneath the rising heat as they ascended. But this time, when she looked back up, her heart swelled with optimism, beating faster in her throat: finally, they had a plan.
Loti had never considered her brother to be bold, so willing to take such risk, to confront the Empire. But now as she looked at him, she could see the desperation in his eyes, could see that he was finally thinking as she was. She saw him in a new light, and she admired him greatly for it. It was exactly the type of plan she would have come up with herself.
“And what of our shackles?” she whispered back, as she made sure the taskmasters were not looking.
Loc gestured with his head.
“His saddle,” Loc replied. “Look closely.”
Loti looked and saw the long sword dangling in it; she realized they could use it to cut the shackles. They could make a break from there.
Feeling a sense of optimism for the first time since being captured, Loti perused the other slaves atop the peak. They were all broken men and women, hunched mindlessly over their tasks, none with any defiance left in their eyes; she knew at once that none of them would be of any help to their cause. That was fine by her – they did not need their help. They needed but one chance, and for all these other slaves to serve as a distraction.
Loti felt one final hard kick in the small of her back, and she stumbled forward and landed face-first in the dirt as they reached the peak of the ridge. She felt rough hands drag her back up to her feet, and she turned to see the taskmaster shove her roughly before turning and heading back down the ridge, leaving them there.
“Get in line!” yelled a new taskmaster, the sole one atop the ridge.
Loti felt his calloused hands grab the back of her neck and shove her; her chains rattled as she hurried forward, stumbling into the work field of slaves. She was handed a long hoe with an iron end, then given one last shove as the Empire taskmaster expected her to start tilling with all the others.
Loti turned, saw Loc give her a meaningful nod, and she felt the fire burning in her veins; she knew it was now or never.
Loti let out a cry, raised the hoe, swung it around, and with all her might brought it down. She was shocked to feel the thud, to see it lodged into the back of the taskmaster’s head.
Loti had swung around so quickly, so decisively, clearly he had never expected it. He had not even time to react. Clearly no slave here, surrounded by all these taskmasters and with nowhere to run, would ever dare such a move.
Loti felt the buzz of the hoe throughout her hands and arms, and she watched in shock, then satisfaction, as the guard stumbled forward and fell. With her back still burning from the lashes, it felt like vindication.
Her brother stepped forward, raised his own hoe high, and as the taskmaster began to writhe, he brought it straight down on the back of his head.
Finally, the taskmaster lay still.
Breathing hard, covered in sweat, her heart still pounding, Loti dropped the hoe in disbelief, sprayed with the man’s blood, and exchanged a glance with her brother. They had done it.
Loti could feel the curious stares of all the other slaves around her, and she turned and saw that they were all watching, mouths agape. They all leaned on their hoes, stopping work, and gave them a horrified look of disbelief.
Loti knew she had no time to waste. She ran, Loc beside her, shackled together, to the zerta, lifted the longsword from its saddle with both hands, raising it high, and turned.
“Watch out!” she yelled to Loc.
He braced himself as she lowered it with all her might and slashed their chains. It sparked, and she felt the satisfying freedom of their chains being severed.
She turned to go when she heard a shout.
“And what of us!?” shouted a voice.
Loti turned to see the other slaves come running over, holding out their shackles. She turned and saw the waiting zerta, and she knew time was precious. She wanted to head east as soon as she could, to head to Volusia, the last place she had knew Darius was heading. Perhaps she would find him there. Yet at the same time, she could not stand to see her brothers and sisters shackled.
Loti raced forward, through the crowd of slaves, slashing shackles left and right, until all of them were free. She did not know where they would go now that they were – but at least freedom was theirs to do with as they wished.
Loti turned, mounted the zerta, and held out a hand for Loc. He gave her his one good hand and she pulled him up – then gave the zerta a fierce kick in its ribs.
As they took off, Loti exhilarated at her freedom, in the distance, she could already hear the shouts of the Empire taskmasters, all spotting her. But she did not wait. She turned and directed the zerta down the ridge, down the opposite slope, she and her brother bursting out into the desert, away from the taskmasters – and on the other side of freedom.
Chapter Nine
Darius looked up in shock, staring back at the eyes of the mysterious man kneeling over him.
His father.
As Darius stared into the man’s eyes, all sense of time and space fell away, his entire life freezing in that moment. It all suddenly fell into place: that feeling Darius had had from the moment he had laid eyes upon him. That familiar look, that certain something that had been tugging away at his consciousness, that had been bothering him ever since they’d met.
His father.
The word did not even seem real.
There he was, kneeling over him, having just saved Darius’s life, having blocked a deadly blow from the Empire soldier, one which surely would have killed Darius. He had risked his life to venture out here, alone, into the arena, at the moment Darius had been about to die.
He had risked it all for him. His son. But why?
“Father,” Darius said back, more of a whisper, in awe.
Darius felt a rush of pride to realize he was related to this man, this fine warrior, the finest warrior he had ever met. It made him feel that perhaps he could be a great warrior, too.
His father reached down and grabbed Darius’s hand, and it was a firm, muscular grip. He yanked Darius to his feet, and as he did, Darius felt renewed. He felt as if he had a reason to fight, a reason to go on.
Darius immediately reached down, grabbed his dropped sword off the floor, then turned, together with his father, and they faced the oncoming horde of Empire soldiers together. With those hideous creatures now dead, his father having killed them all, horns had sounded, and the Empire had sent out a fresh wave of soldiers.
The crowd roared, and Darius looked out at the hideous faces of the Empire soldiers bearing down on them, wielding long spears. Darius focused, and he felt the world slowing as he prepared to fight for his life.
A soldier charged and threw a spear at his face, and Darius dodged right before it hit his eye; he then swung around and as the soldier neared to tackle him, Darius smashed him on his temple with the hilt of his sword, knocking him to the ground. Darius ducked as another soldier swung a sword at his head, then lunged forward and stabbed him in the gut.
Another soldier charged from the side, his spear aiming for Darius’s ribs, moving too fast for Darius to react; yet he heard the sound of wood smashing metal, and he turned gratefully to see his father appear and use his staff to block the spear before it hit Darius. He then stepped forward and jabbed the staff between the soldier’s eyes, knocking him to the ground.
His father spun with his staff and faced the group of attackers, the click-clack of his staff filling the air as he swatted away one spear thrust after the next. His father danced between the soldiers, like a gazelle weaving through men, and he wielded his staff like a thing of beauty, spinning and striking soldiers expertly, with well-placed jabs in the throat, between the eyes, in the diaphragm, felling men in every direction. He was like lightning.
Darius, inspired, fought like a man possessed beside his father, drawing energy off of him; he slashed and ducked and jabbed, his sword clanging against other soldiers’ swords, sparks flying as he advanced fearlessly into the group of soldiers. They were larger than he, but Darius had more spirit, and he, unlike they, was fighting for his life – and for his father. He deflected more than one blow meant for his father, saving him from an unforeseen death. Darius dropped soldiers left and right.
The last Empire soldier rushed for Darius, raising a sword high overhead with both hands – and as he did, Darius lunged forward and stabbed him in the heart. The man’s eyes opened wide, as he slowly froze and fell to the ground, dead.
Darius stood beside his father, the two of them back to back, breathing hard, surveying their handiwork. All around them, Empire soldiers lay dead. They had been victorious.
Darius felt that here, beside his father, he could face whatever the world threw at him; he felt that together, they were an unstoppable force. And it felt surreal to actually be fighting at his father’s side. His father, whom he had always dreamt was a great warrior. His father was not, after all, just any ordinary person.
There came a chorus of horns, and the crowd cheered. At first Darius hoped they were cheering for his victory, but then huge iron doors opened at the far side of the arena, and he knew that the worst of it was just beginning.
There came the sound of a trumpet, louder than any Darius had ever heard, and it took him a moment to realize it was not the trumpet of a man – but rather, of an elephant. As he watched the gate, his heart pounding with anticipation, there suddenly appeared, to his shock, two elephants, all black, with long gleaming white tusks, faces contorted with rage as they leaned back and trumpeted.
The noise shook the very air. They lifted their front legs then brought them down with a crash, stamping the ground so hard that it shook, throwing Darius and his father off balance. Atop them rode Empire soldiers, wielding spears and swords, dressed head to toe in armor.